


Anticipation is a Powerful Thing

by HalloweenBae



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Criminal Intent, F/M, Finger Sucking, Hannibal and you, Manipulative Hannibal, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, post partum depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9660077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalloweenBae/pseuds/HalloweenBae
Summary: Set before Will Graham comes into his life, Hannibal recognizes potential in a patient, and things get intimate in his office.





	

It had been a week since your last session with Doctor Lecter. You had been anxious about what to expect from him considering how your last encounter had ended. The image of his mouth between your legs had haunted your dreams and waking thoughts for the past seven days. Was last week just a fluke? Was it a dream? Was he going to ask you to forget it ever happened, or worse, not mention it at all? Your mind runs a million miles a minute as you try to savor ever visual and olfactory memory from that afternoon. 

“(Y/n?)” He opens the door and smiles. He's dressed in a black three-piece suit with crimson crosshairs. The musky wooden scent of his cologne swims around you as he holds out a hand toward his office.

“Doctor Lecter,” You walk in.

“How have you been feeling this week? Less stressed?” He shuts the door behind him and walks over to his desk, grabbing a pen and paper.

“A little,” You set your purse down next to your usual chair, but remain standing.

“Only a little?” He unbuttons his jacket and sits down in front of you.

“My ex, he's been...” You walk over to the window, looking at the cars drive by. “Especially confrontational.”

“I thought you said that he was more helpful, that you were blessed?” He begins taking notes.

Why did you have to bring up your ex in front of him? Especially after what he did for you last week? You need to learn how to compartmentalize your feelings, but isn't that why you were here in the first place? Surely he had dealt with a lot more intense and annoying patients than you.

“I did, I was,” You sigh and feel the soft material of the curtains. “He's complicated, manipulative, and switches his script in a heart beat.”

“Examples, please.” More scribbles.

“He will be fine for months. He'll help me out and be more supportive. He'll take our daughter an extra night so I can go out to dinner with a friend. He will ask me what I need, he'll deliver ten-fold, and then...”

“And then he won't.” This was a statement, not a question.

“It's more than that. He will literally question my sanity and mental state, my ability to be a good mother because I am tired from working all night. He'll say back-handed comments if I haven't had a chance to clean my house to his standards. He will question any relationship I may have. He only wants me to have him and my daughter in my life... like he wants me to be alone.”

He bites his lower lip. “He wants to control you.”

“He's trying.” You counter. “This is why I left in the first place... but this... our daughter... I'm stuck in this cage with him and he knows it.”

“Do you feel like motherhood is a cage, (y/n)?”

“No... yes. I don't know.” You let go of the curtain and make your way to the ladder that leads to the bookshelf on the second level. “He is the cage, and he's rattling it to see if I'll fall out.”

Doctor Lecter sets his notepad down and stands up. “You could fall out,” He starts pacing in your direction, the leather of his shoes lightly rapping on the hardwood floor. “You could rot in the cage he's made for you, or you can take the keys from his belt and break free.”

You turn to face him as he towers over you. His gaze is stern but soft. Amber eyes glistening as they look you over from their high perches on his cheekbones.

“How do you suppose I do that?”

Doctor Lecter was a lot of things: smart, understanding and patient. None of these qualities could help him understand the emotional depravity your ex-husband put you through on a daily basis. The text messages, emails, snide comments, rumors and accusations were enough to drive any sane person mad. It was something he had to experience for himself.

“Do you trust me, (y/n)?” He continues to step towards you.

“Yes.”

“Good.” A sly smirk crosses his lips as he closes the space between you two. “Think of him as a spoiled child. Any information about your personal life or state of mind is like candy; you musn't indulge him.”

He places his hand on your shoulder, caressing a few strands of hair. “Does he know that you're seeing me?”

His hand feels good there, and you want him to put it other places on your body. You also want to know how to deal with your ex husband on a daily basis. You briefly weigh your options... what is more important to you right now? Peace of mind or physical touch?

“(Y/n)?” He brings you back to the present with a squeeze of your shoulder.

“Umm, no, sorry.” You pause. “No, he doesn't know I've been seeing you.”

“That's good.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Tell me more about your fantasies.”

Your eyes widen. What did he just say? Fantasies? Are you  _still_ dreaming? Was he actually asking you this? Were you going to continue along this path until there was nowhere else to go? 

“My fantasies?” Your cheeks match the crimson in his suit.

“Violent and sexual.” He specifies, brushing your cheek with his thumb like he did the week before.

“I don't have violent fantasies.” You whisper.

He gives you a look that implies he knows better.

“I can only help you if you are honest with me, (y/n). I won't hesitate to show you the door if you lie to me again.” His eyes become darker as they burn into you.

Your lips part in disbelief. What was he getting at? Was this part of the “unorthodox” therapy he had briefly mentioned to you in your second session? Was he trying to bait you into saying something incriminating? Something that could get your child taken away from you? Did he think you were capable of something like that, since so many of his other patients had been known for the same thing? Had something from last week made him ask you this?

“Okay.” you give in.

“Nothing you say or do with me leaves this room, (y/n). Our sessions are completely confidential.” He reassures you. “Now, what do you want to do to him?” His thumb moves down your cheek, pausing briefly on your lips.

“I think about hurting him,” You confess, relishing in the sensation of his touch. “Like he hurt me. I want him to feel like the very earth beneath his feet is crumbling.”

“What else, (y/n)?” His full lips curve into a delicious smile.

“Sometimes I think about tying him up,” You surprise yourself. You didn't even know this was at the forefront of your mind. “I would make sure he couldn't move or look away before I made love to someone else in front of him.” Something about Doctor Lecter made you feel like you were understood and extremely taken care of. You've never felt taken care of before.

The look on his face is absolutely sublime. His smile gets wider and he closes his eyes. “And then what, (y/n)?”

“I've thought about just leaving him to rot, to waste away,” You say this as if you were reciting a grocery list to your mother. “But then lately I've been thinking about setting him on fire.”

“Fire?” he opens his eyes. “Fire is cleansing, transformative, but not very intimate.”

“I'm done being intimate with him.”

“I suppose you are. Is that the only scenario you've imagined for him?” His eyes are almost black with want.

“So far, yes.” You hadn't really thought about other situations. You didn't even know you had thought about this until just now.

“Admitting our desires is the first step in getting rid of them, if that's what you want to do.”

You look at your feet, both embarassed and relieved.

“Is that what you want to do?” His fingertips weave themselves into your hairline, massaging your neck as you keep your head down.

“I uh... I don't know, really.” You stare at his black wing-tipped shoes as they become flush with yours. “It kind of keeps me going some days,” You admit, looking back up at him.

“I understand.” He lets go of you and slowly saunters toward his desk. “Where else does your mind go? Does it elaborate on last week?”

Flashbacks of him pinning you down on the setee invade your mind. The power in his grasp and pleasure of his tongue send you spinning. Had he been thinking about it as much as you had? Had it kept him awake until the small hours of the morning?

“I can't stop thinking about it,” your honesty with him is unfortunate, but can't be helped.

He stops and places both hands on his desk, facing you. “Go on,”

“I think about how good you made me feel, and how I want more,” You take a few steps forward.

“You want more?” How did he ask questions that sounded like statements?

You continue your present course of action and approach him on the opposite side of the desk. You can feel your heart rate increase as you stare him down. His olive skin seems to glow against his dark suit in the afternoon sunlight.

“Yes.”

He smiles like a cheshire cat and walks around the desk, stopping directly behind you. The warmth of his chest radiates to your back as he whispers in your ear. “Tell me exactly what you want, (y/n).”

“I want you to bend me over this desk and spank me until I'm wet.” You close your eyes with your confession, afraid it might be too much.

“What else?” He slides a hand over your shoulder and starts unbuttoning your shirt.

“I think about you taking me from behind, and...” You trail off as he forcefully untucks your shirt from your pants. “And wrapping your hand around my throat until I come.”

He quickly unfastens the last button on your blouse and slides it off your shoulders. You don't look back, but you assume he's folding it neatly, and placing it on a nearby chair. He returns and does the same for your pants, taking care to lift your feet individually to help you step out of them.

“You were expecting this?” He asks, regarding your matching bra and underwear.

“I was hopeful.” You admit, your new nakedness making you shiver.

“Good girl.” He walks up and kicks your heels apart. “Tell me what you want again, (y/n).” He pushes you down so that your face is on his desk. You feel his hand move up your spine, stopping in between your shoulder blades. If you wanted to move at this point, you were out of luck.

“I want you to spank me.” You smile as you feel him switch his weight and stand on one side of you.

“Say please.”

Your eyes roll back into your head. You know he is a psychiatrist, but how did he know exactly what you wanted to hear? You remind yourself to write a long-winded Thank You Letter to your last psychiatrist for referring you to him.

“Please.” You beg.

“Please what?”

“Please spank me, Doctor Lecter!” You almost yell this.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He whispers before striking you on your backside, the sound echoing through his office.

You let out a small yelp as his hand collides with your skin. You had only been spanked by one other lover, and he paled in comparison to this. Doctor Lecter was stronger, more forceful than he appeared. His calm and clean-cut demeanor hid his strength and domination. You had no idea he would actually do what you confessed to him. You thought he would merely mutter “Interesting”, and start talking about something else. Yet here you were, bent over your psychiatrist's desk in his office wearing nothing but your underwear.

He smacks you again on your other cheek, this time a little harder. Your skin is tingling after each blow, begging for relief as he lets less time elapse between them. Another smack, and your whole body rocks forward this time. You grab onto the sides of the desk for support, trying not to claw marks into it.

He keeps a steady beat going until the sensation becomes too much, and you moan out loud. You gasp as he smoothes his hand over your bum, changing your pain receptors back to pleasure.

“Shall we see if you're wet?” He whispers.

“Yes,” is all you can say.

His fingers slide between your swollen cheeks to your dripping entrance. He runs them up and down your length and lingers around your clit. Memories of last week flood your head again and you moan even louder.

“You're soaked, (y/n).” He proclaims, massaging you. “What's to be done about that?”

“Whatever you want, doctor.” You take in a deep breath as his touch makes you tingle. You want him inside of you, to shed some clothes and join you on the desk. But you know that beggers can't be choosers, and you were lucky enough to be where you are right now. He presses two fingers inside of you, hitting your sweet spot just right.

“Oh my God!” Your scream comes out a hoarse whisper. You don't know if you've ever felt this good in your entire life.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and stands you up, turning your head to face him. He pulls his fingers out of you and sucks on them, taking his time to draw them over his full, hungry lips. He stares at you like you're a meal to be consumed, a mountain to be climbed, a castle to conquer.

“Taste yourself.” He slides his fingers into your mouth, brushing past your tongue to the back of your throat. They taste tarte but surprisingly sweet, no doubt the constant flavor he had experienced last week during your session. You close your lips around them and suck all of your juices off, making him smile again.

He takes his fingers back gently, pulling on your bottom lip. You take in a deep breath as his hand falls to his side. The plaid pattern on his suit almost hides the sight of his erection, but you can't help but stare. You look into his eyes and down at him again. You want him inside of you. You want him to invade and conquer your entire being. You want to feel his skin against yours; to merge with him the way you haven't merged with anyone in years, and you want it now.

You reach for his belt buckle and he grabs your wrist. “Tsk tsk.” He scolds, giving you a disapproving look.

“What?” Your brow furrows. Why isn't he letting you touch him?

“Next time.” He's serious. “Your hour is up.” He loosens his grip on your wrist and walks over to his chair.

Your jaw hits the floor. How could he? Why is he... what was he...? How _could_ he?!

“But I didn't even...” you start to complain, feeling cheated. You watch him as he collects your clothes from his chair.

“I know.” He approaches you with a devilish smirk and hands you your outfit. “Anticipation is a very powerful thing.”

 

 


End file.
